Death Seeker
by The-Suburban-Guy
Summary: Death comes for us all eventually. Unfortunately for Dylan Prescott it seems to be determined to get him and his friends after they survive a freak accident. After hearing about the deaths of the survivors Sam and Dean arrive to investigate the strange deaths and work to save the few remaining survivors.
1. Ticket to Ride

**Chapter 1: Ticket to Ride**

_I'm not an anxious person. I'm cautious. An anxious person worries if they remembered everything. A cautious person makes a list and checks that they have everything before they leave. _Dylan thought as he boarded the bus heading for the train station. Franklin High's annual trip to Museum of Art was the stuff of legends. Every year the senior class took an overnight trip to the museum and slept in the main gallery before spending Saturday 'learning' about the art. What really happened was a series of pranks, hijinks, and figuring out how to slip away from the group to spend the day hanging out in the city before getting back to their tiny slice of suburban boredom. Dylan mentally went over his list again, _toothbrush and toothpaste, fresh clothes, wallet, train ticket, camera, cell phone, sleeping bag…_ before he was pushed from behind and nearly tripped over the top step.

"Kevin! Knock it off!" Dylan replied, not even turning around. Kevin was the grade's resident asshole. No one liked him, so he made sure to make life miserable for anyone unfortunate enough to be around him.

"Make me, Prescott."

Dylan rolled his eyes and took a seat with Lee near the front of the bus, glancing out the window at the school's sign: 'Seniors: Enjoy this week! It's your last!'

**SPN**

It was almost five when the bus arrived at the station. Mrs. Sanders and Mr. Daugherty unloaded the students then corralled the class towards the proper platform. Dylan re-read his ticket: AZ Rail/ Departure 18:00/ Platform 4. He squinted at the small smudge on his ticket-the 'i' nearly looked like an 'e' in rail. For some reason that didn't sit right with him. _Cut it out, Dylan. Stop over-thinking and just relax. Train'll be here soon and then you and everyone else can have a nice few days in the city._

Dylan walked over to join the rest of his friends as they stood waiting for the train. Debbie was busy texting her sister as Paul and Lee played catch with Sara's sleeping bag.

"Hey. I missed you on the bus. I got stuck next to Kirby Wilkins." Sara quick pecked Dylan on the cheek, making sure Mr. Daugherty was turned away.

"I still don't know how he always ends up smelling like mayonnaise." Dylan crinkled his nose and looked at the pasty boy standing on the other end of the platform.

"Well, he does. I'm looking forward to the trip. Did you hear the museum has a visiting exhibit on ancient Sumerian art?" Sara excitedly held up a brochure.

"Sara, you're the only one actually excited to look at the art at the museum. The rest of us are just glad it's an excuse to sneak out and see the city." Paul caught the sleeping bag and tossed it back to Lee.

"Heaven forbid you get some culture." She rolled her eyes as she smiled. Paul was notorious for his laissez-faire attitude toward education and learning, though he had managed to consistently pass everything.

"We're cultured. I saw a movie in Spanish last week." Lee retorted.

"If it was porn it doesn't count." Debbie snarked, looking up from her phone as she put it in her purse.

"Never mind then…"

**SPN**

The clock chimed six as Dylan looked down the tracks. He heard the train approaching before he saw it. AZ Rail was a budget train company, so he wasn't surprised that the train looked like it was as old as his parents. The once gleaming chrome was dull and the paint was faded as the engine pulled into view. The air of the nearing train pushed a newspaper in the air and it flew into Debbie's face. She scowled and pulled it off.

Suddenly the train lurched, the wheels squealing as the engine jumped the tracks. The massive vehicle was suddenly careening toward them. Before he had a chance to react Lee was smashed by the train's loose axle, flattening him into a bloody pulp. The others screamed and ran toward the stairs leading out of the platform, but Debbie tripped over a loose tile and was impaled by a decorative light the train's collision knocked loose from the ceiling, whimpering as she convulsed on the cold concrete. Paul managed to make it to the stairs, only to slip on a spilled soda and crack his head open on the cement as the others trampled him trying to escape. Mr. Daugherty was caught in the midst of the chaos, and in trying to evacuate the area was swallowed into a hole as the bridge over the platform collapses-also killing a large number of the remaining students who made it up the stairs as they fall to their deaths onto exposed rebar and rubble. Sara and Dylan are among a few students who successfully escape the bulk of the chaos and manage to climb the rubble out of the platform. Just as the two reach the top a second train on the opposite track is forced to slam on its breaks to avoid the unfolding horror, it fails and ultimately smashes into the few passenger cars that were dislodged onto its track. Dylan stares horrified as a thirty ton chunk of metal is sent directly at them, his last sight is his distorted reflection on the top of a metal train car before his body is smashed, along with Sara and the few others who had managed to get to that point.

**SPN**

"Dylan? Dylan?! DYLAN?!" Sara snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Are you okay, you spaced out for a minute and became pale as a ghost."

"We need to get out of here. The train is going to crash and kill us all."

"What? Dylan, come on. I know you get worked up about traveling, but seriously?" Lee raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

"I'm not being anxious, or cautious, or whatever. I just saw us die because of the train that's going to be here any second." Dylan's voice rose as he panicked, drawing the attention of a few other students and Mr. Daugherty.

"Okay, look, why don't you get some air, then come back in?" Sara suggested, "The train's not due for a while…"

"Don't you guys understand?! WE ARE GOING TO DIE IF WE STAY HERE!" Dylan waved his arms rapidly.

Paul and Lee exchanged a look, Dylan was paranoid, but never this bad. "Okay, if you say it's bad, we'll sneak out. If nothing happens we miss the train and reschedule our tickets."

Dylan and the other four were halfway up the stairs before Mr. Daugherty saw them leaving. "Hey! Get back down here!"

"Run!" Debbie shouted, as the group charged through the evening commuter crowd. Mike Daugherty sighed as he left his bag and chased after them.

"Fran, watch the kids-I have to corral a few troublemakers."

Dylan didn't stop until he reached the parking lot. He was outside the building. It was safe. He never thought he'd be happy to see a cracked asphalt lot.

"Hey! What on earth are you kids doing?! Get back in there or I'm going to be forced to call your parents and have them pick you up!" Mr. Daugherty angrily panted, not used to running after his students.

"We can't go back in there! The train is going to crash and kill us all!" Dylan replied, franticly pointing at the building.

"Dylan, the chance of a train derailment is minimal. The chances of dying due to one is even less. More people die because of vending machines than train accidents." Mr. Daugherty sighed, "So let's get back in there. I'm sure you're all going to have a good time on the trip-but we need to make our train to do so."

Before Dylan could respond the clock struck six. The bell rang as the large clock face on the station displayed the time. A rusted train with faded paint rounded the corner leading into the station, then a horrible metallic clang was heard as were a series of crashes and bangs. The five stood in horrified silence as part of the building collapsed and a fire began to engulf the ruins.

"Dylan… you were right." Debbie said, eyes wide as a crowd began to run from the building, screams filling the air.

Dylan was right. And he never had more wished he had been wrong.


	2. From the Wreckage

**Chapter 2: From the Wreckage **

The police investigation was the worst thing Dylan had ever experienced. Daugherty had remembered what he'd said before the group left the station and had told the police, believing him to be some sort of terrorist. It was clear he was afraid of the seventeen year old. The police were doubtful, but did sense something was off, so they had decided to pursue the potential that Dylan was a domestic terrorist. When the others-in their separate investigations-had stated that Dylan had had some sort of vision of the train jumping the track, which matched the forensic evidence and video recordings of the event, it didn't help dispel their suspicions. When no evidence became apparent that linked him to the accident they eventually released him, but it was clear to Dylan that this was just the beginning of the investigation.

School on Monday was the even worse, somehow. There were seven seniors left out of the class of fifty-three. The five survivors of the accident and two other students: Hank Dorset, who had been out sick with the flu, and Mary Barto, who had been banned from attending the trip for smoking in the girl's bathroom. The seven of them shuffled into the building with the other students, filing into the gymnasium where Principal Henderson stood on a platform.

"Students we are gathered here today to grieve those whose lives were lost in the derailment of AZ Rail's train 081 last Friday evening. We have lost many as a result, with forty-six students and one teacher losing their lives in the tragic accident. We wish their families peace during this difficult time." He paused, looking sadly at the podium, "To honor those lost the school has dedicated funds towards a memorial garden which will feature a fountain bearing the names of those whose lives were ended so abruptly. We wish you peace during this difficult time and would like to offer you counseling services available at any time during the school day with Mrs. Kerlin and Mr. Swarthmore."

**SPN**

Lee tried to take his mind off the assembly earlier that day as he arrived at the town library for his job. He was an assistant at the library. It was an ideal job because it was easy to sneak away from his boss and the library patrons and just kill time on his phone until closing; as long as he got the books shelved nothing else really mattered. Today he was greeted with a large stack of books, most of them volumes of encyclopedias-_Great, the underclassmen were working on papers and didn't have the decency to return the books they used as citations_. He sighed as he wheeled the cart over to the non-fiction section in the back corner of the library, starting to sort out the books.

Across the library a ceiling mounted fan on the second floor balcony had a bolt fall out, causing it to lurch slightly to the left. This innocuous enough movement caused an open hardcover book to blow shut, slightly shifting the weight on a pile sitting on the edge of a table. The topmost book slid off and knocked into a lamp, which fell off the table. The power cord from the lamp pulled taught and caused a desk chair to be nudged backward into a ladder. This ladder spanned both floors, following a diagonal track up the stairway along the shelves, it picked up speed as it descended, eventually reaching the bottom before dislodging-the ancient brackets giving way. The falling ladder landed on the first set of shelves which dominoed toward an unsuspecting Lee, too busy listening to music on his phone to hear the shelves tipping. It wasn't until he turned around to place a copy of the 2006 Compton Encyclopedia Fact Index into its slot that he saw the shelf tip before it landed on top of him, killing him as the heavy metal shelves cracked open his ribs and caused a pile of blood to pool as a horrified Mrs. Carrigan placed down the copy of Curious George she'd been reading aloud and ran to call an ambulance.

**SPN**

Five days later a paranoid Dylan can't shake the fact that he had seen a vision of Lee's death by bookshelf as he tries to convince himself he isn't killing people with his mind. _I'm not a killer, I'm not crazy. I just need some sleep and maybe some psychiatric help…_ He took a deep breath as he swallowed a few melatonin pills and laid down, the mid-afternoon sun warming him as he slowly dozed off.

Halfway across town Donald Chang was angry with his perpetually useless weed-whacker. Not only did it fail to stay operational for more than a few minutes at a time, it often launched the line out of the feeder for no reason. Today it decided that it was going to refuse to work completely aside from nicking the power-cord to the hedge trimmers and launching a few rocks when he'd tried to edge along the gravel front flower beds. _Great. Now I need to get a new cord for those and a new weed-whacker_… he thought, angrily, as he decided to go inside for a drink. He slammed the garage door as he entered, causing a ball to fall off the top shelf and hit the switch to turn on the home's sprinkler system. Debbie said goodbye to her parents and opened the front door. She needed to get away from her thoughts about the accident and Lee, and there wasn't a much better way than shopping. Mary had offered to go out with her-Sara wasn't talking to anyone after the accident-and it was shaping up to be a nice afternoon of _not _thinking about death. Mary pulled up out front and honked twice. Debbie held her flip flops in her hand as she ran across the yard, blissfully unaware of the sharp stone she was about to step on. She quickly recoiled as she tried to recover from the jab, only to fall backwards into a large puddle with the frayed cord to her father's hedge trimmers. She convulsed as the electricity flowed through her body, her eyes rolling back into her sockets as Mary screamed in horror, watching.


	3. Minnesota, Ahoy!

**Chapter 3: Minnesota, Ahoy!**

"Dean, I think I might have found something." Sam held up his laptop, it displayed a handful of articles from a small-town newspaper out of Minnesota.

"Local girl dies in electrocution accident. Well, it's certainly tragic, but how exactly is it our kind of something?" Dean took a sip of his coffee as he flipped through his own stack of newspapers looking for their next hunt.

"No, look, this Debbie girl wasn't the first one. There was another kid, Lee Richards, another weird death: crushed by a bookcase in the town library."

"Okay, two freak deaths in one week in some small town. Promising, but still could just be some unlucky bastards picked a bad hand from fate." Dean raised an eyebrow, more interested, but still not fully committed to the idea that it was in fact their kind of thing.

"Both kids were from the same high school, Franklin High. The school was scheduled to take a trip to some art museum and the train they were supposed to take ended up derailing and killing almost the entire senior class…"

"Jesus Christ." Dean grimaced at the news photo of the accident Sam held up.

"But get this, both of these two kids survived. They left the station a minute before the train derailed."

"So, what, you think this is like that plane disaster demon? Some vengeful asshole is squaring up his list?" Dean was fully on board at this point.

"Maybe, I don't know. I do know that six people survived. Three other teens and a teacher, and if we want them to keep breathing we need to figure out what's going on."

**SPN**

It was a short (well, short for Sam and Dean) ride to North Glen. The small town was not too different from the many others they'd been through over the years. A small Main Street flanked by rows of houses in a dying town after the industry dried up years ago. They were trying to revitalize the town-plenty of signs about investing in local business dotted the storefronts they passed, and while tired it was still moderately well-kept, at least by Sam and Dean's standards. Dean pulled into the local motel-some brick motel with a god-awful ultra-patriotic theme.

"I didn't think it was possible, but suddenly I'm thinking that I like Canada." Dean stood in the middle of their room. The star-and-stripes wall paper was complimented by the red trim flanking the doors and windows, the blue shag carpet, and bed linens all done in classic American plaid.

Sam opened the bathroom and took a half step back. A massive taxidermized bald eagle sat above the sink, staring directly into the shower to its left. "Well, that isn't unsettling at all."

After settling into their room Dean sat on the his bed and turned to Sam, "So, what's the plan?"

"I figure we start with the school. Act as grief councilors sent from some private charity to help the town after hearing about the tragedy in the news." Sam pulled out a cache of fake IDs, "That way we can interview the survivors and figure out what's going on exactly."

"Makes sense to me." Dean sat up, "I swear to God if you give me Ash Hohl again I will beat your ass."

"Fine." Sam rolled his eyes and tossed Dean an ID."

**SPN**

"…and we've already scheduled sessions with each of you over the next few hours, and after that point you can always contact us to share more or schedule an additional time to talk. Remember, Dick and I are here to help." Sam addressed the remaining seniors during Mr. Daugherty's math class, "Dylan Prescott, I'm going to work with you now." Dean shot daggers toward Sam for a moment before also addressing the group.

"And I'm going to be working with Hank Dorset." _Dick Wadd, classy Sammy. _

The school had provided a few classrooms on the third floor for Sam and Dean to use to talk to the students. Dean was in room 304-a former science lab-and Sam was across the hall in 305. The third floor clearly hadn't been used in some time, the school's population being much smaller now than it had been at the height of the steel boom that had built the tiny town. As Dean sat down at a wobbly table across from the acne-faced teen, Sam also took a seat across from Dylan in his own room across the hall.

_"_So Dylan, quite a few things have happened recently. I know that most of your class perished in the train crash, and a few other students have also died in a series of accidents in the time following the accident. I'm here to listen to what you have to say, an emotional sounding board of sorts. No matter how crazy something might seem, I want you to share it with me." Sam smiled, reassuringly.

The teen inhaled deeply before looking out the window to their left, _Can I really trust this guy? If I tell him what I saw, the visions, is he going to think I'm crazy? Is he here to see if I somehow caused the crash...-"_Mr. Hawke, I need you to promise you aren't going to commit me."

_"_Why would I commit you?" Sam tilted his head to the side as he furrowed his brow.

_"_I saw these-_I guess they were visions_-right before the deaths happened. Before the train accident I watched it derail and kill everyone. I watched the bookcase kill Lee. I couldn't stop it. By the time I got there he'd been carted off. Same with Debbie. She was already dead well before I'd gotten there. I don't know why-the first time I had a few minutes to act, but now, it seems like it's only seconds..." Dylan placed his head in his hands and took a shaky breath, "I promise I'm not crazy, but I don't know what's happening to me..."

Sam's eyes grew wide upon hearing about the death premonitions-he had had similar things happen before with Jessica and could understand how freaked out the teen felt, "Dylan. Aside from these visions is there anything else you've noticed that has changed with you recently?"

_"_No. Everything else is normal."

_"_Okay..." Sam nodded and quickly pulled out a pad of paper, "So, can you tell me a bit more about what exactly you saw in your visions?"

**SPN**

Dean's interview had been useless. Hank hadn't been anywhere near the initial accident or any of the following disasters. _Well, that was a massive waste of time,_ Sam was still in his interview when the bell rang, so Dean decided to instead tail his next slotted interview-some kid named Paul White. Paul seemed like a pretty typical teenager from what Dean saw. The kid wasn't particularly hard to tail-not even bothering to check his surroundings to see what was going on-and after a short stroll he walked into a small sporting goods store.

"Larson's Quality Sporting Goods" The sign proclaimed. Dean walked in and milled about by the rack of golf clubs as he watched Paul come out from the employee area in the back. He was still dressed in the same t-shirt and jeans, but now wore a green apron with the store's name on it as well as a name tag. Paul was chatting with some other kid who worked there for a few minutes before he turned toward the back corner of the store. Dean followed him back past racks of baseball equipment and basketball hoops to an area dedicated to fishing. Dean walked nearer, but quickly turned right when a customer came up to Paul and asked for help getting down a kayak to look at.

As Paul obliged and pulled out a ladder Dean felt a sudden chill as the air conditioning kicked onto full above him and the store radio switched to "Don't Fear the Reaper". _Surprisingly good choice for a small-town shop like this._ Dean's momentary distraction was enough to set in motion a surpassingly unbelievable series of coincidences.

As Paul reached the top of the ladder to unhook the kayak from its rack a bolt holding one side of a rack of kayaks gave way, nearly crushing Paul-but he managed to dodge them at the last moment. The loud clatter caused Dean to turn around and witness the madness unfold before him. Paul landed at the bottom of a rack of fishing poles after jumping off the ladder, and manages to stand up only to slip on a puddle of water that was spilled when a kayak destroyed an ornamental fish tank behind the fishing pole display. The tank's water caused Paul to fall backwards into the poles and receive a number of impalements to the back, making him scream in agony as Dean and the customer both ran to try and help the boy up from his painful situation. In the midst of the two trying to pick him up, Dean and the man braced themselves against the wall to lift Paul up and off the display that had narrowly avoided killing him. But as Paul was lifted up he was finally finished off when their attempt to free him from the dangerous situation caused enough vibrations for a decorative swordfish to fall off the wall and pierce his neck, causing him to quickly bleed out as Dean and the man stood shocked, splattered with the teen's blood as the female coworker from earlier screamed in terror.

As Dean stood horrified, and nauseated, Dylan ran into the store-screaming for Paul to stay away from fish-with Sam chasing the teen. "Paul! Get away from fish!" Dylan rounded the corner and stopped cold. "No, God damnit! NO!" Dylan howled as he saw Paul's body lying in a puddle of blood.

"Oh my God." Sam raised a hand to his mouth as he came into view. Sam Winchester had seen a lot of bloody bodies in his years on earth, but usually they had been accompanied by a supernatural cause. To see a teenager skewered by a swordfish surrounded by a cartoonishly large puddle of blood-it was horrible.

Dean quickly took his brother aside, "Sammy, I don't know what the hell is going on, but all of a sudden it seemed like the universe was conspiring to kill this kid in as Rube Goldbergian a way possible." Dean pointed toward the broken bolt, "There is no way in hell that bolt failing should've killed him."

Sam was silent a moment before he responded, "I don't totally know what's going on, but I have a hunch." He nodded toward Dylan, who was being consoled by a customer as a distant police siren was heard. "And it has to deal with him."


	4. Next in Line

**Chapter 4: Next in Line**

"I've done a little research and I think I know what's going on." Sam flipped open a notebook full of his-nearly illegible-handwriting.

"So, why are a bunch of teens suddenly being killed off like its Friday the 13th?" Dean rifled through his duffel, looking for a new shirt that wasn't already blood-stained.

"I know one thing for sure, Dylan is some sort of psychic. He told me he's been seeing the deaths a little before they happen-each time with less warning to the actual demise."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "Like you with Jessica?"

"Yeah, but I know he isn't one of the special kids-he's too young." Sam quickly quelled Dean's anxious look.

"So he's just some regular psychic?"

"Maybe-but more importantly, I think we're dealing with a vengeful demon here." Sam flipped open his notebook to a news article from a few years prior, "The way I understand it is this, demons like this normally have a streak of nasty disasters in their wake, like that one with the plane. If someone ends up missing their death-say due to a premonition-the demon decides it's been cheated and hunts them down. Some just let by-gones be by-gones, that's why you hear about people surviving near misses every once in a while." Dean nodded, "But if you get a particularly asshole-ish demon, which is common, you aren't so lucky. He's pissed that you skipped the cue and he's making sure you die in as sucky a way as possible to get revenge."

"Well, that would explain the ultra-violent deaths. But how do we know who's next in line?" Dean slipped into a new black t-shirt.

"Demons still go in order, they're bastards when it comes to their 'grand scheme'. Whatever the original order was, it'll keep it."

"So, that Dylan kid probably remembers who died when."

"Most likely."

"Okay, so we talk to him, find the next victim and wait until the demon shows up to claim their victim, then gank the bitch." Dean cracked his shoulder as he adjusted his shirt.

"Don't make it sound so easy…" Sam rolled his eyes.

"Call Bobby, I need to make sure we've got everything to take on a seriously pissed off demon." Dean ordered, walking out to the Impala to start checking their weapons.

"Already on it." Sam replied, holding the phone up to his ear.

**SPN**

The Prescott house was a two story white clapboard-sided home with a neat brick walkway leading to the doorway. It was settled in a block of similar homes, likely built sometime during the 60s boom of the small town. But even the seemingly affluent neighborhood bore signs of neglect, with three homes for sale in the short block-one of which appeared long abandoned.

Dean parked the car along the curb on the opposite side of the street. "According to the school records this is the address."

"No cars in the driveway, probably no one home." Sam muttered.

"I wouldn't count on it." Dean gestured to the side gate of the backyard fence. "I wouldn't leave my bike unattended if I wasn't home."

"So what, we just knock on the front door?" Sam said, incredulous.

"Worth a shot." Dean shrugged.

Dean clicked the Impala's door shut, then strolled across the street. Sam was shortly behind him, the two scaling the small curb before the brick walk. Dean knocked on the navy front door as Sam fished out his ID. Dylan appeared behind the door-visible through the sidelites-and slowly opened the door.

"Hello?" He frowned, "Mr. Hawke? Mr. Wadd? What are you two doing here?"

"Hello Dylan, I told my partner about your visions and we wanted to discuss them more with you." Sam smiled.

"Look. I know I'm not crazy." Dylan replied, adamant.

"We believe you." Dean responded, "Look, I'm gonna level with you Dylan. We aren't your average grief councilors. We work with…" Dean waved his hand, "…unique cases-like yours."

"It's important to us that you tell us exactly what you saw in your first vision of the accident. We believe lives might be at risk." Sam added.

"Okay. Come in. I'll tell you all I remember."

**SPN**

"…and that's all I remember." Dylan paused, on the verge of tears. "And the worst part is, even when I see how they're going to die, it's too late!"

Sam sighed, "Dylan, listen to me, it's not your fault that they're dying. You're trying to save them-and that matters."

"Well, it's done shit to stop the deaths! Everyone's still dying in the same order they would've even if I hadn't done something!"

"We had figured…" Dean coughed.

"But if that's the case, we know we need to protect Mr. Daugherty." Sam stated, confidently. "Stay safe. We're going to make sure he's safe and get the thing that's been going after all of you."

**SPN**

Halfway across town a few minutes later Sam and Dean found Mr. Daugherty's apartment.

"I don't think I've ever seen a more depressingly beige apartment." Dean appraised the room they stood in.

"Interior decorating aside, I still need help with him." Sam commented, lugging the bound and gagged high school teacher across the living room.

"Fine. Gimme a minute." Dean sighed as he finished the devil's trap and salt circle in the middle of the living room. _It was going to be a long night…_


	5. Implausible Deniability

**Chapter 5: Implausible Deniability**

_Holy fuck. I'm going to die. These nut jobs are going to kill me… _Michael Daugherty struggled against the ropes as the two men who had broken into his apartment continued talking.

"I still don't know why you tied him up. We could've just talked to him." Sam griped as he glanced at the clock hanging on the far wall.

"And said what? _A vengeful demon is going to kill you through some extraordinary series of coincidences, so we need you to come with us so we can protect you_?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam's bitch-face lifted slightly, "Fair enough, but still, when he survives this he's gonna think we're nuts and press charges." Sam commented, "Especially considering the fact that we aren't exactly trying to protect our identities…"

"Look, we'll burn that bridge when we get to it." Dean muttered, pulling out a flask of holy water.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Don't you mean 'cross that bridge'?"

"No, because ideally no one else will cross it to find us." Dean huffed, "Duh."

Sam huffed. "So now we just wait?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Dean flipped open a magazine. "So get cozy."

Six hours later and nothing had changed. Sam was passed out on the couch and Daugherty had given up trying to get free after Dean added handcuffs to his restraints, which left a drousy Dean to pick up the remote and see if there was something to pass the time until the demon decided to show its ugly-ass face.

Dean flicked on the TV and woke up the dozing gigantaur of a brother of his sitting on the recliner. "Dean, what happened?"

"I got bored."

"Well I have to take a piss. Don't do anything." Sam commented, folding the recliner closed and inadvertently pinching a cord to a space heater resting atop the television.

Dean grumbled in reply as Sam left the room. He needed something to eat; he hadn't had anything since lunch the day before in the teacher's lounge at the high school. Dean got up to leave the room and walked into the kitchen. Chances were this guy wouldn't have anything decent, but at this point he didn't care. Dean rummaged through the cabinets-it was standard fare for a single guy with no money-half-eaten boxes of cereal and a ton of soup. Eventually Dean found something decent, microwave popcorn, _It's better than nothing…_He tossed a bag into the microwave and punched in five minutes, standing by the counter to wait. After a few seconds he heard some popping, then a sudden explosion. _The microwave is fine, so what the hell is happening?_

Sam exited the bathroom as Dean left the kitchen, the two standing dumbstruck as they viewed the scene in the living room. Michael Daugherty was dead. He was sitting in the chair where he'd been restrained, a five inch glass shard from the television lodged in his windpipe.

"How the hell did that happen?!" Sam gawked as he started to inspect the room.

"Somehow the TV exploded…" Dean turned toward the set as a fire suddenly burst forth.

"Holy shit!" Dean leapt back. "Where's a fire extinguisher?!"

"Check the kitchen!" Sam quickly started flinging open cabinets as Dean watched the fire engulf the area rug and begin lapping at the beige walls.

"Sammy…" Dean took a half step back.

"Dean there isn't an extinguisher!"

"And we're on the fourth floor with the only door currently blocked by a raging inferno. Wonderful." Dean grated.

"Thank God for Abraham Wivell." Sam pointed at the window off the dining room.

"What?" Dean said, shielding his face from the smoke beginning to rise.

"The guy who invented fire escapes. I did a report on him in tenth grade." Sam shouted over the alarms sounding in the building around them.

"And why do you remember that?" Dean yelled as he broke the window and clamored through.

"Because it's interesting." Sam countered, stepping through the wrecked window.

"It really isn't."

**SPN**

Sam knocked on the door to have it opened by an middle-aged man with a large gut and sweater vest. "Can I help you?" He asked.

"We're councilors with the National Grief Trust. We've been working with Dylan and other students at his school. We were informed that his teacher, Michael Daugherty, perished in a fire last evening. We wanted to see if he was alright." Dean quickly lied, flipping open his badge.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll let him know." He turned away from the door and shouted, "Dylan! There are some people here to talk to you!"

Dylan appeared a moment later, much paler than the last time the brother had seen him. "Thanks Dad. Do you mind if we talk in private?"

"Sure, just holler if you need anything. I'll be out back."

Dylan led Sam and Dean upstairs to his bedroom. "I saw him last night. Was it really a fire or something in his neck?"

"In his neck. He got slashed by an exploding television." Dean replied.

"Fuck!" Dylan kicked his bed, "So what now? I thought you knew how to stop this thing."

"We do, only we weren't in the room when this all happened. This time Dean and I won't leave your side."

"Well, me or Sara." Dylan hesitantly rubbed his arm.

"What do you mean?"

"In the first vision I don't know who died last. Both of us sorta died at the same time… So I don't know who's up."

"Where does Sara live? We can take both of you to somewhere safe and ward it until we capture the demon." Sam flipped open his phone to make a note.

"About a block away on Mapleton Drive." Dylan replied, "But she hasn't done anything since the accident, I haven't even seen her. I guess we could try and visit."

Sam glared at Dean, "And this time we talk to her first."

"Fine." Dean replied, "But if it doesn't work I totally called it."


	6. End of the Line

**Chapter 6: End of the Line**

"Sara!" A pebble hit the window of the second story bedroom of the yellow brick house. "Sara!"

"Are you sure she's home?" Sam asked, glancing at Dylan.

"And are you sure there isn't an easier way to check?" Dean grumbled, upset at having to crouch behind an overflowing trashcan while Sam and Dylan were hiding behind a low hedge.

Dylan glared at the brothers, "Yes I'm sure, and no I can't try another way. Her dad thinks I'm a domestic terrorist and threatened to cut off my manhood last time he saw me."

Dean exhaled, standing up. "Give me a minute." He sauntered over to the back patio and climbed the decorative lattice that led to the overhang. Edging along the roof he eventually reached the window with pink curtains and knocked on the glass until a teenage girl appeared and slid open the pane. Sam rolled his eyes, knowing exactly how many times his brother had done the same thing when he was younger and somehow possessed an even larger libido.

"Sara!" Dylan yelled as Dean motioned for her not to freak out at the strange man outside her window. "It's Dylan! Don't freak out, he's a friend!"

"Dylan?" She squinted to see her boyfriend waving his arm. "What's going on?"

"Just get down here and I'll explain."

**SPN**

A few minutes later the four were sitting in the Impala heading for the Americana Motel.

"So you two are going to protect us from a _demon_ that's decided it wants to kill us because we didn't die when the train derailed?" Sara asked, incredulous.

"Yes." Sam replied, "And while I know it's hard to believe, demons are real and they love to get even."

"But if it's going after the two of us, why hasn't it killed us yet?"

"It's going in order. Your boyfriend saw the original disaster play out and it's offing the survivors in the order they were supposed to die. You two are the last two left." Dean replied, flicking the turn signal to head onto the main street back toward the hotel.

"Alright… But couldn't it just get pissy and decide to kill us both now?"

As if on cue the Impala suddenly lurched forward as Dean lost control of the accelerator.

"God damnit!" Dean frantically slammed the brake, to no avail. "Everyone hold on. This is gonna suck…" Dean ground the transmission into neutral as he yanked the emergency brake, narrowly avoiding a collision with a truck in the oncoming lane. The black sedan rolled to a stop as the engine continued to whir angrily as Dean shifted into park and took out the keys. "Well, that's gonna be a bitch to fix."

"Dean, what the hell just happened?!" Sam released his death-grip from the vinyl upholstery as he glanced at the two living passengers in the backseat.

"That asshole demon just tried to wreck my car to off us all!" Dean angrily shut his door. "Alright you incorporeal bastard, you just made a big mistake because NOBODY fucks with my baby!"

Sara and Dylan exchanged a look as Sam gave a knowing glance. The car had broken down outside the town halfway between the former main street and their hotel. At the moment there was nothing else around except for a few trees and telephone poles that lined the street.

"Well, what now?" Sara crossed her arms. "We can't just stand here until something else tries to kill us."

"We walk back to the motel and get settled in. You two are going to stay still and do absolutely nothing while we make sure you don't die." Dean replied as he undid the emergency brake and rolled down the window. "Now everybody push."

It was another half-hour of strenuous pushing until the Impala was delivered into the Americana's parking lot. Surprisingly during that time nothing had attempted to kill either Dylan or Sara. The two teens sat on the beds as the brothers stripped any and all decorations from the room and moved them out of potentially fatal range. What remained were two bare mattresses pressed into the center of the room surrounded by a salt ring and enough devils traps to catch anything dumb enough to try to enter the room.

"So what, we just wait til this thing shows up?" Sara asked.

"You two are going to wait here while Sammy and I make sure that the demon is captured and exorcised. Then when it's safe you two can go." Dean finished the last line of salt around the two as Sam walked out of the room to grab a spare jug of holy water from the Impala.

As if on cue the lights began to flicker. The room's air conditioner turned on, sputtering angrily as it was awoken from its years of dormancy, releasing a puff of smoke along with an acrid odor. Dean glanced upward at the unexpected sound before turning to check that the traps were all fine. The appliance then fell out of its transom window and slammed the door shut while also effectively breaking Sam's foot, who was now stuck outside of the room due to the knob being knocked off with the falling fifty pounds of 1970s metal snapping the cheap brass.

"Jesus Christ!" Sam shouted, "Dean! I think my foot's broken!" He pounded on the door, trying to pull it open.

Dean was on high-alert as he walked over to the door, trying to push it open. Unfortunately the falling air conditioner was still blocking him from pushing it open. "Sam! Get this thing out of the way, we need an escape route!"

"I'm trying, but my foot is still stuck under it!" Sam hissed as he again tried to yank the metal away.

Dean turned back toward the two teens-who were now visibly freaking out-as the ceiling fan began spinning wildly. _Oh come the fuck on…_ Dean tackled them out of harm's way as the blades flew loose and the shards of wood impaled themselves into the mattress where the two had been seconds earlier.

"Sam! I don't think it's a demon! None of this is working!" Dean stammered as he grabbed his phone off the counter. He quickly dialed Bobby as he broke he window with a side table and launched a mattress through for the three to use for escape. The two teens managed to get out before Dean, and they joined a freed Sam as they watched the motel proceed to have continued electrical problems before the room finally caught on fire.

"Hello?" Bobby responded.

"Hey Bobby… You got a minute?" Dean exhaled as he watched the fire cause the roof to begin to sag.

As the fire department extinguished the motel's smoldering ruins the four stood in the middle of the field across the street from the hotel as Dean relayed the instructions from Bobby-_Because short of lightning or the ground caving in, there's nothing here to kill us…_

"Okay. I followed your instructions, an eight pointed star with all the symbols sprayed in order." Sam put down the can of spray paint.

"Good." Dean replied. "Now what?"

"Now you stay in that damn thing until the reaper tries to get you. Once it gets close it'll get pulled in. Then you get out of it and say the binding spell that keeps it from causing any more deaths and sends it back to wherever the hell it came from."

**SPN**

Three hours later and it was finally over. When Dean felt his cell phone battery beginning to overheat he placed it on the ground close enough to ensure that the reaper would have to approach. When it did the four managed to leave the star-Dylan narrowly avoiding the molten plastic fragments of Dean's Nokia-and the brothers bound then banished the monstrosity.

"Is it gone, for good?" Dylan asked, anxiously rubbing his elbow.

"Yes. But don't think you're immortal. This reaper was a vengeful dick who liked to even up his list. You'll die eventually, but not because of surviving the disaster." Dean warned

Sam nodded, "Stay safe, and if you start having visions again call us." He handed the boy a card with his and Dean's name and number.

"Thank you." Dylan responded, taking the card. "For everything."

"You're welcome."

Dylan borrowed Sam's phone to have his parents pick him up, and by the time that the station wagon had arrived the brothers were gone, already miles away from the small town as a jerry-rigged Impala carrying them onto their next case.

The End.


End file.
